


abandon all hope, ye who enter

by thekuroiookami



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Comedy, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Planning, Fluffy oneshot, Humor, Massages, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nonsense, Romance, Vergil is Extra, cooking together, general cuteness, very extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 21:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18582586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekuroiookami/pseuds/thekuroiookami
Summary: Circumstances find you teaching Vergil how to make pancakes.





	abandon all hope, ye who enter

You didn't know such a thing as "too helpful" existed until Vergil got it into his head to stalk you around the house.

 

"Vergil," you snapped. "Enough is enough."

 

He looked up from the fridge where he was the intimidating a milk bottle into jumping into his hand. He'd gently pushed you aside when you'd bent down to get it. "Hm?"

 

"Seriously. I'm not made of glass. I don't need you to heroically save me from retrieving food."

 

Vergil shook his head. He had that set to his shoulders that meant he was going to do this or die trying. You knew it well. "You are hurting."

 

"I can't believe I'm having to say this. It's just my period. It happens every month. No need to make an event out of it."

 

"But you are hurting more than usual." He turned icy with disapproval. "I do not like it."

 

Okay, he wasn't entirely wrong. Your stomach was knotting itself up like those animal balloons, and your back twinged something awful. But.

 

"I'll get over it, buddy. Such is life. Sometimes it hurts." You nodded resolutely at him and opened the cupboard for the flour tin.

 

He glared at your midsection like it had decided to skip school and do drugs instead. "I cannot accept this outcome."

 

"Mhm." You nodded absently, still looking for your ingredients. "Honey, could you get the sugar for me?"

 

Without taking his eyes off you, Vergil smacked the side of his fist into the cupboard. The jar of sugar obediently fell into his other hand. You raised your eyebrows at him.

 

He waved it away. "You should be resting."

 

"Goodness, if this how you are when I'm having cramps, what are you going to be like when we have a child?"

 

Vergil froze. You could see the magnitude of the whole process washing over him like a tidal wave. He came out of it understandably laden with salt.

 

"I will slay anything that dares harm you."

 

"Dear, if you try to keep me in the house while I'm pregnant, I'll go live with Trish."

 

He blanched. "Anything but that."

 

You sighed and leaned against the counter. "Look, if you really want to do something, why don't you make these pancakes for me?"

 

He looked at the mixing bowl beside you with patent suspicion, then looked up at you. "This will help you?"

 

"Yes. I need some sugar in my life that doesn't come from you being sweet." You looked at him and let some of the aches in your lower body filter into your expression.

 

Vergil curled his fingers on the counter, hesitating. You held your breath, sensing a tipping point. Now he had to decide whether admitting to not being able to do something outweighed his need to do something for you.

 

After a minute, his ego crumbled. "I need you to show me how," he muttered.

 

You beamed. "First, one cup of flour, then a teaspoon of baking soda, and a half teaspoon of salt. Then sugar, about two tablespoons."

 

He picked up the flour. Before you could stop him, he dunked a quantity of it into the bowl with no regard for the height he was pouring it from. A white cloud exploded into your face.

 

When the dust settled, you tilted your head at Vergil, who was blinking owlishly. You couldn't tell where his skin ended and his hair started. 

 

"We're off to a good start, then."

 

He sighed and swabbed his face with his sleeve. "I apologize."

 

You reached out and wiped away some of the dust streaking his cheekbone. "Everyone has to start somewhere. Hey, who knows. Maybe next time you go hack a few demons apart, you can take some flour with you and freak them out."

 

His eyes lit up like stars. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

 

"Only like?" 

 

"Don't push your luck." He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. "What next?"

 

You glanced at the once-yellow mixing bowl. "Now you add- oh! How'd you get the amount right?"

 

He shrugged in that way men did when they were supremely pleased in their own abilities and trying not to let it show. "Accurate estimation is what puts one at an advantage in a fight."

 

Of course he'd equate pancakes to war. "Doesn't the term estimation naturally exclude accuracy?"

 

Vergil gave you a look that would not have been amiss in a portrait of a snobby duke. "Semantics."

 

"Uh-huh." You monitored him as he tipped in sugar and the other dry ingredients. He did it all with casual flicks of his wrist, like he had the winning hand in a poker game. Somehow it always turned out right. How unfair. "Okay, ace. Now we add the eggs and milk."

 

Vergil paused. You looked at him questioningly. "Why do you need this kind of..." He peered at the label on a bottle. "Soda?"

 

"Oh. I want fluffy pancakes, not crepes. If we don't add the soda, the milk and eggs will inhibit the rise."

 

"Inhibit? The rise?" His mouth tipped down at the corner as he tried to digest this. "Food...is a mysterious art."

 

"It's not art, it's science." You gestured to the bowl. "Onwards and upwards, comrade."

 

You vaguely heard him mutter something about it not making sense to add  _ baking _ soda to  _ pan _ _cakes_ when nothing was being  _ baked _ . 

 

He poured in the milk just fine, but disaster nearly struck with the eggs. You flailed in horror when he slid out his sword halfway. 

 

"Put that back! No blades longer than my arm in my kitchen!"

 

He stared at you, a grimly determined soldier. "But the eggs?"

 

You gaped back. "Do you solve  _ every _ problem with a sword?"

 

He nodded. "Dante is only menacing the world because Nero is a sentimental fool."

 

"Hey, I like that kid. He's got more sense than your entire family tree." You cleared your throat. "Here, just crack them on the edge of the bowl like this."

 

Vergil watched carefully as you demonstrated. Credit to the man, at least he learned quick. When he was done, he gripped the bowl with his left hand and looked expectantly at you.

 

You twirled your finger in a circle. "Now we mix it till it's a batter."

 

Vergil never did anything in a fashion that did not include an epic orchestral score in the background. His stirring was well, stirring. You watched him fondly as he stood there, intently whisking the batter, flour still dusting his shoulders. Warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading out to your belly and heating your fingertips.

 

You flinched as your back put an end to the happy feelings and reminded you that you'd been standing too long in one spot.

 

He immediately looked up. "Are you in pain?"

 

You pressed your spine against the counter and tried not to wince. "It'll go away."

 

He set the bowl down. "Show me," Vergil ordered. "Where does it hurt?"

 

You reluctantly turned and pointed to a spot on your back that seemed to take a particular pleasure in being difficult. He knelt and gripped your hip, leaving floury fingerprints on your dress. He pressed two fingers to the spot. "Here?"

 

At your nod, he began massaging your spine. His knuckles kneaded gently, rolling out the ache until it was unrecognizable. You sighed and started melting. "That feels amazing."

 

An aura of smugness radiated off him. "I do have my uses."

 

"Mmmm, you sure do. And here I was just keeping you around for your looks."

 

He chuckled quietly. "Better?"

 

"If I say no, will you keep doing that forever?"

 

Vergil rose in a fluid movement and smirked. You looked up at him from where you were laying your head and shoulders on the cool granite. "When I imagined you bent over the counter-top, this wasn't what I had in mind."

 

"Like I said, no swords in my kitchen."

 

"We'll see about that." He rolled up his sleeves with an air of determination. "Now, I believe you were promised pancakes."

 

You unwillingly picked yourself up and pointed to a row of hooks with cookware hanging from it. "Get the skillet on the third hook."

 

He did. "Fire up the stove and put the pan on."

 

You were not surprised he did  _ that _ with no trouble. If something in the house had destructive potential, Vergil probably knew how to operate it. 

 

He gazed with mild curiosity as you added butter to the pan and let it bubble out. You ladled some batter into the skillet and smiled at him. "Now this is the fun part."

 

You had the everlasting satisfaction of seeing Vergil's eyes widen as you flipped the pancake neatly. When was the last time you'd managed to shock him? Oh right, that day with the collar and the bunny ears...

 

When it was the right shade of toasty brown, you slid the pancake onto a plate and looked at him. "Go for it."

 

Boy, did he go for it.

 

At one point he flipped the thing so high you were sure it had gone beyond the reach of gravity, never to come back. There were definitely some suspicious stains on the ceiling. 

 

By the end he'd managed to inject his careless competence into this too, and was doing it like he'd made pancakes his life's work. You were unbearably proud. Finally, a stack of fluffy, golden-brown goodness sat invitingly on your plate.

 

Now to find out how it tasted.

 

You speedily dusted some sugar on them, added a few strawberries, and drizzled some chocolate sauce for good measure. Vergil trailed after you like a soundless ghost as you headed to the sofa with the plate and a burning need to dive headfirst into your food.

 

He sat down and propped his head on his hand. He looked like he wasn't paying attention, but you could see his frame coiled with tension. 

 

You took a bite and made a noise of delight. "It's so good!"

 

He exhaled softly. "But of course." 

 

You let that ludicrous comment slide. "Vergil."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"What's your father's name?"

 

His brow furrowed. "Sparda-aaah."

 

You gave him a brilliant smile. Vergil returned it with a betrayed expession, still chewing on the forkful you'd sneaked into his mouth. "Isn't it yummy?"

 

He swallowed and sat in a moment of silence. Then he nodded. "I can see why you like it."

 

You tucked into the rest happily, occasionally coaxing him into eating a strawberry. Vergil was mostly quiet, watching you with an oddly gentle demeanor.

 

"This is not unpleasant," he murmured after a while.

 

"What do you mean?" You put the plate away and stretched out on the couch languidly, settling your feet in his lap. 

 

He picked up your left foot and started working his magic on your ankle. "This. Having you eat food I made. Watching you savour it. It is...I could get used to it."

 

You tipped your head and gave him an understanding smile. "I would be happy to show you what I know."

 

He turned away, face slightly pink. "It's hard...not being able to do anything for you. I can keep the monsters at bay, but..."

 

This man. He would kill you by being adorable. "Sometimes, heat helps," you explained. "Soothes the pain."

 

He sat up straighter. "Heat?"

 

"Like a hot water bottle or-" You stopped as he unfolded from the couch and glided into the kitchen. 

 

He returned with a slightly terrifying expression of concentration. "Hold still."

 

"Wha-" You gasped. His hands rested lightly on your belly, and they were  _ warm. _ Not just his usual comforting heat, but the kind of wonderful warmth you got from bubble baths or cups of freshly made tea.

 

For the second time that day, you became a useless puddle of goo. Vergil smiled slightly, eyes alight with something joyful. "Is that working?"

 

"Yes. So much yes. What did you do to-" You gestured helplessly at his newfound powers.

 

"Oh. I turned the stove on and put my hands into the flame."

 

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

 

He tilted his head away from your shriek. "It doesn't harm me." He lifted a palm in demonstration, and sure enough, there were no burns.

 

"But how?" You were rapidly re-calibrating your opinions of demon half-bloods.

 

"Prolonged exposure to hell?" He shrugged. "I am not certain."

 

You dropped your head back and resigned yourself to the fact that he was a walking radiator. "I take it back. I love your family. May your bloodline prosper."

 

The amused scoff you expected didn't come. Instead, Vergil dropped his gaze and traced a pattern over your stomach. "Do you truly mean that?"

 

"What?"

 

"About having a child."

 

"Oh. Erm. Do you...want one?"

 

He breathed out shakily. "I-I don't know."

 

You sat up, his hands still curling in the fabric of your dress. His eyes cut to your face when you slid your fingers into his hair. For all that he'd been treating you like china earlier, Vergil looked a thousand times more fragile. 

 

"Hey," you murmured softly. "If we do have a kid, we're doing it together."

 

"But what if I-"

 

"Trust me. I chose you. You'll be an excellent father."

 

He leaned into your touch, eyes closed. "I am not...not as powerful as I once was."

 

You touched his face with your free hand. "You're exactly as strong as you need to be. So long as you can pick up our child when he's crying and put him to bed at night, you'll be his hero. And mine."

 

He shuddered and slumped. His face pressed against your middle, his hands still seeping heat. "I will do right by you."

 

"Of course you will." You patted his back. "Besides, think how much worse it would be if any kid had Dante for a father."

 

His shoulders shook. "That would require someone to willingly sleep with him first."

 

"Okay, that is high on my list of things I'd rather not think about."

 

"Also," he said firmly, sitting up, "I would prefer a daughter."

 

"Why? So you can behead anyone who looks at her the wrong way when she becomes a teenager?"

 

"That does hold a certain appeal. But mostly...I hope that she would take after her mother in image."

 

There was a sensation in your chest like someone had set off popping candy. "Soooo, you only want her to _look_ like me?"

 

Vergil's mouth curved with wicked humour. You tried not to find it attractive and failed. "Let us admit, my love, that the world can only handle one of you at a time."

 

"I'll take that as a compliment." You settled back on the cushions and poked him in the ribs with your toes. He arched a brow, but resumed rubbing your feet.

 

"You should," he agreed. "There is definitely one other thing about the prospect of having a child that is attractive."

 

You had a vague feeling you knew where this was going. "Which is?"

 

Vergil smirked. "I get to change your mind about counter-tops."


End file.
